Regret
by arillovesyou22
Summary: No slash. Scott's actions are finally coming to BITE him in his butt. He deals with his friends, his ex, and his enemies. Stiles/ Lydia and Scott/ Allison
1. Chapter 1

**I'm having a horrible case of writers block on my stories: Touch of Death and One Night One Chance. **

**So, writing this just popped in my mind after watching 'Lunatic' about 5 times seeing as I bought it on iTunes. **

**Don't own anything. Especially nothing as totally wicked as Teen Wolf. **

**Enjoy:**

Scott sat uncomfortably on the wooden bench. His lacrosse stick was resting on his lap, the net hanging of the bench. His gloves where off his meaty hands and thrown aggressively onto the tile floor. His elbows rested on his high thighs. His thighs screaming at him to stop the pain from his sharp elbows digging in his maroon shorts. His hands found his sweaty hair. It was greasy, like it hadn't been washed in days. He tugged at it, influencing more pain on himself, as if it would evaporate his pain inside him.

The sweaty, half naked boys didn't pay a sec of attention to him. They walked around- either in their lacrosse uniform, or towels. The humid steam bouncing gleefully on the mirrors, fogging the boys' view. Danny strutted past him, glaring at him, but keeping his head up. His hand rested on his towel, keeping it up.

Scott looked up and stood. Many boys around them stopped and watched the two. Danny turned towards him and kept his contact on the floor. Scott squirmed. "Danny-" he started.

"I get it. You're adrenalin was rushing through you." He shrugged, but his facial expression told him otherwise. "You were just ticked, it's cool." He patted his shoulder, "see ya around, Scott." He walked past him.

Scott just looked ay him once more as he walked away. He cursed himself under his breath and turned towards his locker. Opening it and taking his cloths. He didn't even bother in a shower. It was, after all, the end of the day. He could take one at home and crash in his room.

Stiles walked past him. He was already clothed. His light gray blazer sleeves were rolled up to his elbows due to the heat. His backpack matched his jacket, that hugged his back and his shoulders. His face was blank. His vision straight ahead.

Scott turned and bumped into his shoulder doing so. He placed his cloths, that were wadded up in a ball, on the bench. Stiles glanced at him. He huffed, fixing his backpack strap that fell down his arm. He licked his lips and closed his eyes. His hands gripped his backpack, and he looked at his worn out shoes.

"Stiles it was the full moon-" he started.

Stiles looked up and shook his head, "No. You kissed her, Scott. You knew I liked her. Does she even like me? Did you even ask her?" He asked.

Scott hesitated, "... No I didn't ask her but-"

Stiles looked up at the dusty ceiling, smirking sarcasticly. He gripped his backpack tighter, his knuckles began to whiten. He faced him. His face read sorrow and pity. Stiles took a step back, "I don't know if you can get out of this one this time," he shrugged and walked out the locker room.

Scott pulled on his hair again. Tightening his grip, and pulling harder. His hands released his hair easily, his fists beginning to ball into a tight fist. He slammed them against the lockers, annoyed and stressed. Many boys stopped and raised a brow at him, but paid no affection at him.

Jackson snicked at his sight. Scott: his fists balled onto the white, dirty locker. His face was ducked towards the floor. His eyes scanning his shoes. His breath was huffed and heavy. Jackson walked past him, pushing the teen wolf onto the locker.

Scott's face met the cold locker. He could feel his sweaty neck getting colder with Jackson's minty breath. Jackson let go of his jersey, snickering once more as Scott was now adjusting his body to his usual position. Only this time, his breathing rate was faster and deeper. His teeth began to grind together. Jackson walked past him, a smirk never leaving his face.

"Don't hurt her," he muttered under his breath, Jackson stopped in his tracks. He looked up, grinning. He was only in a towel that hugged his waist. He looked over his shoulder and snickered at him.

"Like you have?" He chuckled halfheartedly.

Scott breathed out. His loud, hot breath made Jackson's pride grow at his anger. "I'll kill you if you do anything to her."

Jackson turned. He was about five yards away from his bleak presence. "Oh?" He took diminutive steps towards him. Deliberately inching closer to Scott's enraged body. "Like what you did to my girlfriend? Like when you practically had sex with Lydia? I could tell Allison."

Scott slammed his clenched fist into the locker. Getting angrier and angrier every time Jackson's voice ringed into his ear. What made it worse, was he was right. About Lydia, about kissing her. He was right; he could easily tell Allison, and she'd hate him more than she already had.

"I could tell the whole school about it. Then I could dump Lydia," he chuckled under his breath at the thought. Oh, he could see her face now. Begging and pleading that he'd stay with her. 'Please Jackson. I love you.' _What a piece of shit._ He thought, rolling his eyes.

"And move on." He smirked. "You know, I have my eye on this brunette. Curly hair, brown eyes. Illegally gorgeous." He chuckled.

Scott slammed his fist in his locker, denting in even more. "Does that make you mad, McCall? Are you angry? Are going to attack me?"

Scott growled at him, his heavy breath, however, masked it to Jackson's oblivion. "Don't make me, Jackson." He said. His voice low and heavy.

By now, the locker room was clearing out. The heavy steam deemed to a light fog. The humid air began to cool to a colder temperature. "Then maybe you should stop making me," he looked over him once more. Looking his lacrosse uniform up and down and chuckling: grass stains covered the white specs, holes on his white socks, and sweat falling.

Jackson turned and made his way towards his locker, leaving Scott to his angry thoughts, as he tried to calm himself. He was getting closer and closer to changing. He needed to kill this Alpha, and fast.

**I'm currently at the beach. Though, I managed to squeeze a story. I hope I didn't waste your and my time... Surfside Beach, is beautiful. **

**Dear readers: should I continue this, or should I just delete it? Review and let me know?**


	2. Chapter 2

**It took me a while to write this. Sorry for the delay in updates...**

**1.) I had no idea what to do, because I have a horrible case of writers block. The only cure is thinking your ass off, and getting wonderful ideas from my lovely reviewers. Please, together we can help fight this horrid disease. **

**And, 2.) I was at the beautiful beach. Got burned everywhere. So, luckily my fingers are tamed for me to write this. **

**I don't anything except a lovely case of writers block, and a burn on my pale (not anymore) skin. It really changes a person. Seriously, anyone want it? No? No? Okay... *sighs***

**Enjoy:**

He gazed his camel eyes over the brimming cafeteria. Stopping them, however, once he spotted Stiles seated alone. His bag laid to the seat next to him. It was what he'd always do to save Scott a seat just in case one of them just so happened to be late to lunch. But now, it seemed as a habit for Stiles.

He was leaning back in his seat, his eyes focused on his bread in his hand. Scott sighed and looked once more over the lunch room. He found Jackson seated with Lydia and Allison. They were chatting, smiles plastered on their faces.

It definitely did displease Scott at seeing his ex girlfriend laughing and giggling with Jackson. He turned his attention back to Stiles, and headed towards him. He gripped his brown lunch bag. It was crumpled, and his useless lunch was probably spoiled.

Scott stood in front of Stiles. He was standing behind the cold seat, and Stiles didn't have to look up from his lunch to know that he was standing their. His everyday sent told him enough. "Stiles..." he said softly. Stiles looked up. His hard, cold expression read anger and annoyance.

"You have every right to be... completely pissed off at me right now, but it wasn't me, okay?" Scott explained. "I can't control myself, a-and you know I don't like Lydia. I wouldn't do anything like that, I still like Allison." He huffed his breath, "I guess I'm just angry about everything and-"

"Scott," the petty voice was weak and obviously forced. The two teens turned their heads towards Lydia, who was surprisingly standing next to their table. Her hands were behind her back. Overall, she looked completely unconformable.

Stiles looked down, throwing hiss roll onto his tray he stood, "Well, I don't wanna interrupt any..." he looked over the two, "important loving so..." he backed away from the table, and placed his hands in his jean pockets, "Bye." He turned, walking away from the two.

Scott breathed out loudly, then turned to face the waiting girl. She seemed hesitant at first, but held her hand out from behind her back. He observed the locket in her hands. The silver, yet simple heart with several, out of control spirals deeply engraved inside, looked too familiar to him. His brows furred in.

"I gave it to Allison-" he started, his eyes never leaving the beautiful locket.

"After you realized it was her birthday?" She smiled, "Yeah, I know. She told me to come over here and give it back so," she held it out further, and he slowly took it from her pale hands. Her hands found her sides uncomfortably.

"Look Lydia... I just wanted to say, that kiss meant nothing. I was angry and annoyed and I like Allison, not you." Her eyes trailed up. Her melancholy expression matched his sorrowful one. Though, he was oblivious on her reason, it definitely did have something to do with him, he could most definitely tell.

She put on a small, forced, downtrodden smile. Her cheerful, preppy mood was absent, and it honestly frightened Scott a bit. "Doesn't everyone?" She asked, shrugging.

"What are you talking about? Lydia your the most popular girl in Beacon Hills. Everybody loves you." He explains, clearly confused on her situation.

The forced smile turned into a depressed frown upon her face, pushing away the glances of the passers-by, the clear unmistakable frown which possessed her face. His confused thinking got the better of him. His nose scrunched up, his eyebrows knitted close together in thought. His frown was so much sad as disappointed. He was staring at her, sightlessly wordless...

"Everybody hates me," she replied flatly. Her saddened face was blinding Scott. It wasn't like her at all: being depressed.

His mouthed gaped open slightly, "W-what?" He asked, gripping the small locket in his hands tighter. Subconsciously digging his dirty fingernail into the circular necklace.

He knew that he didn't like her. She was rude, spoiled and inconsiderate. But that didn't mean that guys didn't like her. Guys like Stiles and even guys like Jackson found girls like Lydia attractive. They lusted her body. Her attractive looks disguised men into this animal towards her. Their was peers dying to be her friend. How can they hate her?

"Did you honestly believe that people liked me? Jackson doesn't even have anything for me." He didn't say anything, just watched as she looked down at her black heels. "Well..." she replied after an uncomfortable, small, silence, "See you later, Scott." Her scratchy voice gave shivers down his spine.

He watched as her gray mini skirt swayed. Her pale legs were trapped with knee-high black socks, matched with black heels. Though, as he watched her depressed body towards Jackson and a hesitant Allison, his guilt was punching violently in his chest. It was odd, though. Having the feeling of guilt towards Lydia.

He turned back towards the table, from where Stiles disappeared from. Observing his now untouched lunch. He took a seat, opening his bag and fishing out his sandwich. But what he was oblivious to was Stiles walking towards him.

He turned in his seat, watching as he eyed him, and moved to his seat. "Stiles-" but he stopped mid-sentence as Stiles didn't sit, but hunched over. He grabbed his bag in which Scott didn't notice. Stiles looked at him confused.

Stiles looked at Scott, gripping his backpack tighter. "Forgot my bag," he shrugged. Scott nodded, a bit unappeased and disappointed. Stiles only looked at him once more before leaving Scott to a spoiled peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and a whole lot of guilt.

**Bit of a filler but it kinda stirs with how his situation is really affecting his life. So, if you review I'll update. Ideas would be lovely. **


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